


this modern love

by 1000_directions



Series: luckyverse [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Penetrative Sex, Past Psychological Trauma, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, These Tags Sound Awfully Dark For A Fic That Is Seriously 80 Percent Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-16 11:56:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14164323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000_directions/pseuds/1000_directions
Summary: There are two categories of energy. There’s kinetic energy, the energy of motion. The energy of Bucky reaching through space and time against all the odds to meet Louis, to run after him down the street, to touch his body and kiss his sacred mouth.And the other category is potential energy, the energy that is stored up and kept secure for the future when you’re ready for it. The energy of possibility, the energy that hasn’t done anything yet but promises youmaybe, maybe, maybe.Bucky falls in love.





	this modern love

**Author's Note:**

> This story picks up approximately four months after the end of 'tonight make me unstoppable.' I recommend you read that one before reading this one, but I'm a die-hard completist, so you can make your own choices.
> 
> There is one scene in this story where Bucky recounts some of the torture and trauma he endured as the Winter Soldier. It is not very specific or graphic, but some of the language he uses regarding his lack of physical agency could possibly be triggering for sexual abuse. I might just be acting overly cautious here, but I don't want anyone to be caught unawares. Please feel free to reach out to me on [tumblr](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com) if you want to discuss this before reading.
> 
> This story has absolutely been a labor of love. I owe an enormous, unrepayable debt of gratitude to everyone who read 'tonight make me unstoppable.' Thank you so much for your generous comments, kudos, reblogs, and recs. Thank you for the time it took to read my words. Thank you for going on this journey with me. I would have continued on alone even if no one else was interested, because I love this story and I love telling it, but it's so much more fun with company. Thank you for being a part of this adventure with me. I love you all.

“Why aren’t you following me on Instagram?” Louis calls from the bedroom.

Bucky stops rummaging through Louis’ kitchen cabinets for a moment to shout back, “Honestly, I deleted the app months ago and forgot about it.”

“Well, put it back on your phone and follow me so people know we’re serious!”

“I slept over last night, and now I’m making you breakfast,” Bucky calls back. “Seems pretty serious to me.”

“Making breakfast” is a bit of an optimistic overstatement. Louis has almost no groceries, and Bucky only knows how to prepare a handful of meals. There’s a waffle-iron on the counter, pristine and gleaming like it’s never been used, but there are no instructions for how to operate it or which ingredients you’re supposed to put inside.

 _How do you make waffles?_ Bucky texts Peter as he hears Louis turn on the upstairs shower.

Two minutes later, Peter sends back a screenshot of a Google search for “how to make waffles.”

_Just tell me the steps, Peter._

_I AM NOT YOUR PERSONAL ASSISTANT!!!!!_ Peter responds. _STOP TEXTING ME WHEN IM IN CLASS!!_

Bucky begins the laborious process of opening a browser window on his phone, going to Google, and typing in “Fuck off, Peter.” It takes him several tries to get it spelled perfectly, stupid metal fingers, and by the time he’s finally done, Louis wanders into the kitchen.

“I thought you were making breakfast,” Louis says. His sweatpants are tucked into his socks, and the wet ends of his hair are dripping onto his t-shirt collar, and he looks so beautiful as he walks up to Bucky and slings an arm around his hips, dropping a quick kiss to his shoulder.

“I am,” Bucky says. “I’m going to. How do I take a screenshot on my phone?”

“Give it here,” Louis says, and Bucky hands over his phone. Louis presses two buttons, and the screen flashes and makes a clicking noise. “Just those two buttons at the same time, yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Although,” Louis says thoughtfully, “if you’re trying to drag Peter, why don’t we send him a picture of, like...is there a spray you can buy that kills spiders? Something like that?”

“Go for it,” Bucky says, and Louis grins as he opens a new search.

“How’s this?” Louis asks a minute later, showing him a picture. The label on the can reads “Raid MAX Spider Killer.”

“Perfect,” Bucky says. “Can you send it for me?”

“Of course, love,” Louis says, fiddling with Bucky’s phone. “But I’m reinstalling Instagram for you when I’m done.”

“That’s fine,” Bucky says. “Also, you don’t have any breakfast ingredients, and I still don’t understand how your coffeemaker works.”

“Cheers,” Louis says, distractedly. A minute later, he hands the phone back to Bucky. “Message is sent, app is downloaded. You log in, and I’ll make the coffee.”

Bucky signs back in to Instagram for the first time since he deleted it six months ago, when Louis was still just some attractive stranger he’d met in a Starbucks one time. His password is still _buckySUCKS123!_ from when Peter originally set the account up for him. He really needs to remember to ask Louis how to change that.

It appears that Bucky has accumulated several messages in his time away from Instagram. He clicks out of a text message notification from Peter ( _haha sick burn hi louis_ ) and thumbs over to a Direct Message screen. He has thirteen unread messages from louist91.

_Hey !_  
_Just got the notification that you liked that pic of us from a few weeks ago !!_  
_it looks sick , yeah ?_  
_(this is Louis)_  
_(from starbucks)_  
_I mean obviously you know that because you liked the picture mate !_  
_Maybe we could take another one sometime_  
_Like if we’re both out just getting coffee anyway_  
_Only if you wanted, no pressure_  
_Sorry if this is too forward . Just an idea !_  
_I mean just as mates or something_  
_Anyway let me know  
_ _Hello ?_

“You sent me a lot of Instagram messages,” Bucky says.

“When’s this?”

“Long time ago. Before the speakeasy. Before Freddie fought me in Starbucks.”

“Oh,” Louis says, coming up behind Bucky to look at his screen. He blushes slightly as he reads the messages over Bucky’s shoulder. “Excuse me if I thought you were fit and I wanted to kiss your hot face.”

“You can kiss my hot face any time you want,” Bucky says with a grin, craning his neck to peck Louis on the lips.

“So then my plan worked,” Louis murmurs, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “Can I put a picture of you on Instagram?”

“Of course,” Bucky says. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“People will know about us,” Louis says softly. “I mean, they already suspect, but if I do this, they’ll really know. Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

“People already know,” Bucky says. “We’ve already told plenty of people.”

“Strangers, though,” Louis says. “Are you okay with every stranger on the street knowing you’re dating, you know…a man?”

“I’m okay with every stranger in the galaxy knowing I’m dating a man,” Bucky says gently, “as long as that man is you. I mean, it’s okay these days, right? It didn’t feel okay for me before, but lots of people do it now. You did, and you were fine.”

“I did, yeah,” Louis says carefully. “But I wasn’t keen for people to find out, and it was sort of an accident, really. Wasn’t being careful, and some people got a picture of me, and I had to answer a lot of uncomfortable questions. And I got a lot of shit from people who wanted me to be some kind of...outspoken gay advocate.”

“You’re bisexual,” Bucky says.

“I am, yeah. But more than that, I didn’t want that responsibility. I just wanted to live my life.”

“I’m sorry if people were invasive with you,” Bucky says, and his muscles twitch a little at the thought of anyone trying to take something from Louis that he didn’t want to give. “I’m really not worried about myself, though. Maybe that’s naïve. But people already know the shitty stuff about me. The worst, worst parts of me are all public record. I don’t care if they get to hear about the best part, too.”

Louis tightens his arms around Bucky’s waist, and he brings his head back to nose at Bucky’s neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the spinous process of his C7 vertebra.

“I was very bloody lucky the day I met you, Captain Barnes,” Louis murmurs against Bucky’s skin.

“Not a captain,” Bucky corrects. “Just a sergeant.”

“Well, whatever you are, I’m glad you’re in my life,” Louis says, kissing the back of Bucky’s neck again. “Go check on the coffee, love. I need to concentrate on selecting the best picture of you, and I have a lot to choose from.”

Bucky rolls his eyes fondly and then busies himself fixing a mug of coffee for each of them. Louis doesn’t look up as Bucky walks back over to him, so he just places their mugs on the counter and kisses Louis’ forehead, waiting for him to finish.

“All right,” Louis says. “Think that’s the one. Do you want to approve it first?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, taking a sip of his coffee. “Whatever you want to do is fine.”

“Okay then,” Louis says, and a few seconds later, Bucky gets the alert that he’s been tagged in a picture. He opens up the app on his phone. The picture Louis chose is from one of the times they went to the beach at the end of summer. Bucky’s hair is pulled back in a disheveled ponytail that the wind is doing its best to unravel, and there’s a harsh glare off of his bare metal shoulder, and he’s squinting against the sun as he smiles at Louis behind the camera. It isn’t a particularly well composed or focused picture, but Bucky looks blissfully, joyously happy.

The caption says “my summer soldier,” followed by emojis of the sun, a yellow heart, and a smiley wearing sunglasses.

“I’ve never seen this picture,” Bucky says.

“I have loads of pictures you’ve never seen,” Louis says. “Is that one okay?”

“It is. It’s a little weird to see myself looking so happy.”

“That’s how you always look,” Louis says softly. “That’s how you look at me, all the time, and I’ve got a thousand pictures to prove it.”

“I don’t have many pictures of you,” Bucky says. “Should I? I just never got in the habit.”

“You don’t have to,” Louis says. “But for us mere mortals who don’t have superhero memory powers, it’s a nice way to remember good times.”

Bucky’s still thinking about that idea later when they’re watching a soccer game on television (or _footie on the telly,_ according to Louis). He _does_ have almost perfect recall, but he’s had so many good moments with Louis that some of them are starting to blend together. It isn’t a collection of discrete, separate events; it’s an amalgamation of them all, a comfortable weight in his chest that keeps him grounded and happy and warm. Maybe there’s something to it after all. Maybe it’s worth singling out a few individual memories, just to make sure he doesn’t lose track amongst all the other mundane and brilliant moments of his life.

“You all right?” Louis asks with a small smile, reaching over to squeeze Bucky’s hand. “You look like you’re drifting, love.”

Bucky looks down at their hands, Louis’ soft skin next to Bucky’s metal. Bucky’s hand always looks more beautiful when it’s reflecting Louis’.

“Can you take a picture of our hands?” Bucky asks. “For my Instagram.”

“Of course,” Louis says. “Give me your phone. I’m getting really good at lighting you properly.”

Bucky hands over his phone, and Louis fusses with settings and filters and levels and all kinds of other stuff that Bucky doesn’t understand, that Louis has learned because he has a challenging-to-photograph boyfriend who reflects light.

“This okay?” Louis asks, showing Bucky the screen.

“Perfect,” Bucky says, glad that Louis managed to get some of his own tattoos in the shot. It’s unmistakably Louis, and it’s unmistakably Bucky, and the way they’re holding each other is so intimate and specific and...unmistakable, really.

“Do you want a caption?” Louis asks.

“Don’t think it needs one,” Bucky says. “I think the picture speaks for itself.”

“I think you’re right,” Louis says. He squeezes Bucky’s hand again, posts the picture, and then he crawls into Bucky’s lap to finish watching the game.

*

37,718 days. A scrap over 103 years. That’s how long Bucky Barnes was alive before he ever touched Louis Tomlinson.

He’s getting used to it, now. The way Louis kisses him, the way he can be gentle or insistent or achingly tender, the way his lips usually land somewhere else on the way to Bucky’s mouth, a peck to his forehead or cheek or the corner of his jaw. He’s getting used to the places that Louis likes to touch him, a thumb over his wrist, fingertips on his jaw, the back of his hand brushing the hair from Bucky’s face. He’s getting used to how Louis’ hands settle low on his hips when he kisses Bucky, how he slides his flat palms up Bucky’s back to tangle his fingers in his hair. He knows now that when he sits down on the couch, Louis will slide right into his space, pulling Bucky’s arm around his shoulders and resting his head on Bucky’s chest.

Earlier in the day, Bucky met Louis for lunch with Freddie, and then they dropped him off at Briana’s. Bucky stayed in the car, waving awkwardly at Briana from where she stood in the doorway. He’s met her, but he doesn’t really know her, doesn’t know what she thinks about any of this or what she thinks of him. But she’s hosting Freddie’s fifth birthday party this weekend, and Bucky and Louis will both be there. It feels like a huge step, but Bucky isn’t as nervous as he expected to be. Maybe because he knows that he got Freddie the best birthday gift imaginable. If kids parties are a competition, Bucky is on track to win.

They’re back at Louis’ now, ostensibly watching a movie in bed so that Cliff can have free range of the kitchen and den while he eats. Bucky’s making an effort with Cliff, he really is, but it’s going to be a slow process.

It’s funny, in a way, how long it’s taking him to get used to a _dog_ when he’s already getting so used to the way Louis isn’t even facing the screen, turned completely sideways so he can kiss his way up Bucky’s neck.

“If you’re not even watching, can I turn this shit off?” Bucky asks.

“How do you know I’m not watching?” Louis asks, nipping at Bucky’s ear. “How do you know this isn’t my very favorite scene?”

“Tell me anything at all that’s happened in the last five minutes,” Bucky challenges him, and Louis sighs.

“You caught me,” he says, pressing soft kisses to the skin behind Bucky’s ear. “Fuck, you’re just so fit. Can’t focus on anything else.”

Bucky jabs at random buttons on the remote until the TV goes dark (he will never understand how to control that fucking entertainment system), and then he turns his attention to Louis, to the feathery feel of his mouth against Bucky’s ear.

“C’mere,” Bucky murmurs, and he pulls Louis into his lap. Louis moves with him easily, his arms draped delicately around Bucky’s neck. He pulls back slightly and smiles at Bucky, and then he leans in again, touching his impatient lips to the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

“Been thinking about this all day,” Louis mumbles.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, grazing his hands up and down Louis’ sides in a way that always get him shivery. “What were you thinking about?”

“You,” Louis says breathlessly. “Fuck. Touch me.” He wriggles out of his shirt in a flash, and Bucky catches him as he crashes forward, seeking Bucky’s mouth urgently.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky manages to whisper before Louis’ mouth is on his, slick and insistent. Louis’ skin is flushed and warm under Bucky’s hands, and he’s a solid, luxurious weight across Bucky’s thighs. Sometimes things get heated between them like this, and sometimes they don’t. Bucky doesn’t ever really get desperate the way that Louis does, and it’s still difficult to comprehend that he’s the reason Louis gets so worked up. It doesn’t quite make sense, but he likes it, likes making Louis feel good and lose control a little bit, even if Bucky can never entirely lose control himself. He’s starting to think that he might like to try, but he’s not quite there yet.

“Shit,” Louis whispers against Bucky’s mouth, pulling him back into the moment, into the decadent feeling of being wanted so much. Bucky brings both of his hands to cradle Louis’ face, and Louis moans, and his entire body seems to submit in that moment, languid and boneless, his hips jerking against Bucky’s thigh like they’re out of his control, like he’s just along for the ride.

“You okay?” Bucky asks gruffly. He can feel Louis getting harder against his hipbone, and his breath is erratic now, open-mouthed and harsh against Bucky’s lips.

“Sorry,” Louis says, blinking several times. He pulls back slightly to lick his lips. “Shit, sorry. Just give me a minute.” He smiles at Bucky, presses a small kiss to the tip of his nose, and then starts to get up, but Bucky holds him tight.

“You don’t have to,” Bucky says, and Louis frowns.

“Just a minute, love. I’ll be right back.”

When this happens, Louis normally excuses himself for a few minutes to get off, and then he comes back to Bucky, goofy and sweet and cuddly. Bucky didn’t quite get it the first time Louis left, just sat there on the couch wondering what he’d done wrong and trying to decide if he should go after Louis or go home. And then Louis came back and kissed Bucky, sweet and chaste as sugar cookies, and now that’s the pattern they’ve fallen into. Sometimes Louis inexplicably gets turned on from kissing Bucky, while Bucky still barely ever even starts to get hard, and Louis leaves to take care of it without making Bucky uncomfortable. And Bucky’s appreciated that so far, because they’d agreed to take this slow, and they have been, and he knows he’s not ready for everything, and maybe he never will be. But he’s pretty sure he’s ready for this.

“Stay,” Bucky says. He strokes his metal thumb along Louis’ jawline, and the contrast of his smooth skin and his prickly beard always fucks with Bucky’s sensory receptors in the best way. He touches his thumb to Louis’ lower lip, lets the warmth of Louis’ skin heat his metal. Louis looks at him with wide eyes, covers Bucky’s hand with one of his own and presses a kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“Are you sure about this?” Louis asks, the soft plushness of his tongue brushing against Bucky’s hand as he speaks.

“I’m sure,” Bucky says.

“Tell me if it’s too weird and I’ll stop,” Louis says, and then his eyes flutter closed. He keeps one of his hands over Bucky’s, keeping it pressed to his face, and he lets his other hand fall into his lap. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of Louis’ face, the way he alternates between tension and softness, the wrinkle between his eyebrows that Bucky just has to kiss. He focuses on that, the feel of Louis’ slightly sweaty skin beneath his mouth as he kisses along his hairline, breathing in the smell of his shampoo as he hears Louis’ hand moving on himself, the sound of his desperate breathing, the soft moans that Bucky feels against his metal thumb like a secret between the two of them.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky murmurs into Louis’ hair, and Louis whines softly. Bucky’s heart hammers against his ribcage like it’s trying to escape, and Bucky knows Louis can feel it, knows that Louis knows that this is so much for Bucky, this moment is huge and too big for their bodies to contain.

“Shit, I’m gonna--” Louis says, but Bucky feels it before he even says it, feels the change of his pulse, the seizing of his heart, can almost taste the flood of endorphins in Louis’ bloodstream with his fingertips. Louis’ body can never keep a secret from Bucky.

“Beautiful,” Bucky whispers again as Louis’ head falls forward and he pants into Bucky’s neck, not saying anything yet, but shivering slightly as he comes back into himself and the sweat from his bare skin meets the air.

“Fuck,” Louis mumbles eventually. “Was that okay? Not too much?”

“Not too much,” Bucky says, stroking his hand up and down Louis’ back, catching his shivers and calming them with quiet friction. He means it, too. It was a lot, it was a _lot_ to be this close to Louis as he lost control, but it was good.

“Jesus, you just get me so hot,” Louis says. He lightly kisses Bucky’s neck, his lips like wings against Bucky’s pulse, like they’re beating in unison. “I get so worked up, and you’re so unbothered.”

“Not unbothered,” Bucky says. He strokes Louis’ hair, soothes each and every strand. “Just not sure I have an outlet for it like you do.”

“I just wish I could make you feel as good as you make me feel,” Louis says softly.

“We could try,” Bucky says. He wonders what that would be like, to just give up control. He promised himself a long time ago that he’d never be in less than one hundred percent perfect control of his faculties. But back then, he didn’t know he’d ever meet someone like Louis.

“I’d like to try,” Louis says, nosing behind Bucky’s ear. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Not right now,” Bucky clarifies. “And I don’t...I don’t know if I even _can_.”

“I know, love,” Louis says. He holds Bucky’s wrist in his hand, strokes his clever thumb over the metal. “It’s okay. We can try, when you want to. _If_ you want to. And we’ll just see what happens, yeah? Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Bucky nods, and Louis snuggles into his side, and as Louis’ muscles relax and his breathing slows down, Bucky feels something blooming inside him, some sort of terrifying and beautiful feeling he can’t even put words to yet. But he’s pretty sure Louis will wait around until he figures it out.

*

There are so many cars outside of Briana’s house when Bucky gets there for Freddie’s party that he ends up parking four houses down and walking nearly a quarter of a mile back to her door. It’s nice to have that little bit of time to himself, moving his body, feeling the way his heart refills with each cycle of venous return. He’s looking forward to seeing Louis, and he’s excited to see the look on Freddie’s face when he gets his birthday surprise, but he’s a bit overwhelmed by the idea of being around so many unfamiliar kids and parents. Plus, Briana.

When he gets to the house, there’s a sign posted on the front door. It’s a picture of a man with an uneven, unattractive haircut, and the text reads “The Party’s In The Back(yard)!” It feels like a reference he is expected to understand, but he doesn’t. But he follows the sounds of excited high-pitched chattering around the side of the house to the backyard.

The scene before him is barely contained chaos. The yard is elaborately decorated with balloons and streamers and posters, all with a Spider-Man theme. Two dozen young children are running around the yard, singing and screaming and knocking things down and bumping into each other and crying and laughing, all at once. A gaggle of adults, presumably the parents, have positioned themselves on the porch, drinks in hand, pointedly ignoring the pandemonium as they chat with each other, leaving Louis, Briana, and her mother to wrangle the kids by themselves.

Bucky walks over to Briana, who is crouched on the ground, trying to console two wailing children while balancing precariously on her heeled sandals. The kids look up at him, and he waves at them hesitantly with his metal arm. They stop crying to gawk at him, and he ruffles the plates on his arm, a trick that Freddie always enjoys.

“Can I touch it?” one of the boys asks. His face is still wet with tears, and his nose is running profusely, but Bucky nods anyway, and he leans over so the boy can reach. The child extends one hesitant finger, gives the arm a strong poke, and then runs off screaming and laughing with his friend. Kids are _so weird_.

“You made it,” Briana says, looking up at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He offers her his arm and helps her back up. “Thanks. If you have presents, we’re putting them--” She stops herself when she notices that he’s empty-handed. “Never mind. Anyway, Louis should be around here somewhere. He’ll be glad to see you.”

“I have a present,” Bucky says awkwardly. “It’s not here yet, but I have something coming for him.”

“Of course,” Briana says. He can’t read her, and it’s maddening. “Anyway, tell Louis he’s supposed to be finding me something to cut the cake with.”

“I will. Thank you for inviting me,” he says, but she’s already turned away, comforting a crying child who has dropped her pizza and gotten grass all over it.

He ventures further into the party. Freddie is standing on a bench and jumping in a circle, singing “Happy birthday to me! Happy birthday to me!” over and over. Bucky will double back and greet him later. He needs to find Louis, and then he thinks he needs to sit somewhere dark and quiet for five minutes, just until he can recalibrate to this new situation.

Louis is on his back on the ground, and three children wearing capes and masks have tackled him. Louis plays along, because he’s Louis, but Bucky knows the limitations of Louis’ respiratory fitness, and he suspects the child sitting on his sternum is affecting his ability to breathe comfortably.

“Hey, kids,” Bucky says, cringing at the sound of his own voice as it leaves his mouth. He is so bad with other children. “Do you think I could swing all three of you at the same time from my arm?”

“Yeah!” they cry in unison, clambering off of Louis, but not before one of them manages to kick him in the stomach. Bucky lets all three kids loop their arms around his before he slowly spins them in a circle, the centrifugal force swinging them out away from him. He takes them through five and a half rotations before gently lowering them back to the ground, and they cheer and run off to tell their parents. By this point, Louis is back on his feet, and he’s smiling broadly at Bucky.

“You’re here,” Louis says softly, his eyes crinkled and beaming. He reaches for Bucky’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Briana says to find something to cut the cake,” Bucky says dumbly. Sometimes he just gets so fucking stupid when Louis smiles at him, but he catches himself, squeezes Louis’ hand back, and says, “It’s good to see you. I’m glad I’m here, too.”

“Let’s go inside and find something,” Louis says, beginning to lead Bucky across the yard. “I could use a little break, and I bet you could, too.”

Bucky nods gratefully, and he follows Louis into the house. When they’re inside, Louis tucks himself into Bucky, and Bucky wraps his arms around Louis, and they just stand there for a moment together, ignoring the muffled commotion outside, just breathing each other in.

“Thanks for coming,” Louis mumbles into Bucky’s chest. “I know it’s a lot for you. It’s been a lot for me, too. I appreciate it. Freddie does as well.”

“I don’t think Briana likes me,” Bucky confesses.

“You wouldn’t be here if she didn’t like you,” Louis says. “She just doesn’t know you yet, and you don’t know her.” He tightens his arms around Bucky’s waist and presses a soft kiss to his collarbone, and Bucky feels the tension leach from his body, like Louis has perforated his exoskeleton and all the pressure inside of him is just draining out and disappearing.

“Let’s find a knife,” Bucky says eventually. He knows he’d rather stay in here forever than go back outside to the noise and the uncertainty, but he wants Briana to like him, and so he is committed to being helpful.

“All right,” Louis says. “Just to warn you, Briana doesn’t cook, and everything here is childproofed, so I don’t even know where to begin.”

They start on opposite ends of the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets. They find pots, pans, plates, sippy cups, plastic child-sized spoons, but nothing knife-like or even mildly sharp. There is one drawer that appears to be bolted shut, but there’s no obvious way to disengage the mechanism.

“Do they just not cut things in this household?” Bucky asks.

“I couldn’t tell you,” Louis says. He picks up a spatula. “Maybe this will do.”

“That is a spatula,” Bucky says.

“Yes,” Louis says. “It is. Maybe she won’t notice.”

Louis presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and then they head back outside. Louis presents the spatula to Briana.

“That’s a spatula,” she says flatly.

“It’s my error,” Bucky says immediately, not wanting Louis to get in trouble. “I communicated the message wrong.”

Briana looks from Bucky to Louis and then back to Bucky again.

“Well, I don’t believe that for a second,” she says. “Louis, there needs to be a knife or a cake server in my hand in two minutes, or I _effing swear_ ….”

She doesn’t complete the thought, but it doesn’t appear that she needs to. Louis shrugs, flashes a smile at Bucky, and then heads back into the house.

“How can I help?” Bucky asks Briana when it’s just the two of them again.

“Make sure none of the kids die,” Briana says simply.

“I don’t kill children,” Bucky says harshly, not sure what she’s implying. “I don’t hurt people.”

“I didn’t think you did,” she says with a small frown. “Kids get hurt by themselves, all the time, for barely any reason. Just intervene where you can and make sure everyone is okay. Jesus Christ, I didn’t think you were going to kill a kid.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. He suspects he won’t be invited to Freddie’s next party. He doesn’t understand the nuances of how Briana talks or thinks, and he doesn’t see her enough to learn.

“Listen,” she says, a little more softly this time. “Thank you for coming. We’re all a little stressed out here, and there aren’t a lot of adults willing to help. Thank you for wanting to help, and thank you for being here. Why don’t you find Freddie and say hello? He was so excited that you were coming to his party.”

“Okay,” Bucky says again. He can do that. And then he will do something else. And he’ll keep doing things, one after the other, and he will get through this party. Some situations are just easier when he has a mission. “Thank you,” he says to Briana.

She smiles tightly at him, and then she walks back in the direction of the uncut cake. Bucky scans the yard, sees Freddie over by the pile of presents. He has one box in both hands, and he’s shaking it vigorously. Bucky heads in that direction.

“Hi, Freddie,” Bucky says when he gets close enough. Freddie looks up, and he smiles delightedly. He tosses the present carelessly to the ground and launches himself at Bucky, who catches him easily.

“Bucky!” Freddie crows. He scampers up to Bucky’s metal arm, wraps his small arms and legs around it and holds on tight, like he always does. “It’s my birthday!”

“I know, little superhero,” Bucky says, slowly extending his arm and then raising it above his head so Freddie is up in the air, where he loves being. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you!” Freddie lets go with his arms now so he’s upside down and only holding on with his legs. “I’m five!”

“You are,” Bucky agrees, watching Freddie cautiously. He has the tendency to let go completely with no warning, expecting Bucky to catch him, which he always does.

“I got so many presents!” Freddie says. He lets go then, settling easily into Bucky’s other arm, which is positioned to catch him. “Okay, put me down now, please.”

Bucky sets Freddie back on the ground. Freddie rushes at him unexpectedly, getting Bucky around the legs in a quick hug, and then he runs off to find his friends. He’s a funny, sweet child. Very affectionate and physically expressive, like Louis. And also like Louis, he tugs at the part of Bucky that is determined to serve and protect and keep safe.

And...it’s fine. The party is just fine. He never quite lets his guard down enough to relax and enjoy it, he always feels that little prick of anxiety behind his sternum. But Louis finds a knife somewhere, and they all sing Happy Birthday to Freddie, who beams and claps and blows out all his candles with a monstrous gust, and Briana hugs him tight and kisses his face like she’s afraid to let him go, and Louis ruffles his hair and smiles down at him in a faraway kind of way, like he’s seeing this moment at the same time he’s seeing all the moments before it and picturing all the ones to follow.

And Bucky’s birthday surprise finally shows up: Peter, dressed in his full Spider-Man costume, swooping down from the trees and showing the kids how to shoot webs, letting a hysterically excited Freddie try on his mask while they both pose for pictures. And Louis looks at Bucky in shock, and Briana considers him carefully, maybe respectfully. And maybe he is a part of this. It’s all happening around him, but he’s here, too. This is a family, and he’s here.

*

Bucky only meets up with Peter briefly after the party. He’s just in town for the day, mostly on business with the Los Angeles S.H.I.E.L.D. affiliate, so he turns down their offer to stay in one of Louis’ many luxurious guest rooms, and he doesn’t have time for dinner. But he does have time to take a dozen selfies with Louis, and it’s impossible to tell whether Louis or Peter is more starstruck. They all make vague promises to meet for dinner at some point in the future, and Louis looks smug and excited the entire time that they’re helping Briana clean up.

“Thank you,” she says to Bucky as he’s leaving. “Freddie was so excited. In the future, please run your surprises by me first. But this was awesome. Thank you for coming.”

He isn’t expecting the hug from her, but he settles into it anyway, holds her for what feels like an appropriate amount of time and then pulls back. She even smiles at him, and he smiles back. It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless, and he’ll be carrying that one around in his pocket for a while.

He heads over to his apartment to grab a change of clothing and check his mail, and then it’s right back to Louis’ place, where he always seems to be these days. It’s just easy to be with Louis. It’s easy to go there and order take-out and spend the evening watching Netflix and trying to become more comfortable with Cliff. It’s easy to go, and it’s getting harder to leave.

“I still can’t believe you did that for me,” Louis says softly. They’re both sitting on the couch, the television playing quietly in the background, the dishes from dinner soaking in the sink where they’ll probably remain until Bucky remembers to take care of them tomorrow morning. Louis is sitting half in Bucky’s lap, perched on one of his thighs, and he’s been smoothing his fingers through Bucky’s hair for what feels like hours now.

“Didn’t do anything for you,” Bucky says, trying to joke, but it comes out of his throat scratchy and hollow. “It was for Freddie.”

“Buck,” Louis says, and he’s looking at Bucky so openly, gazing at him so adoringly, and his fingertips are so gentle against Bucky’s face. He isn’t holding anything back, and it’s one of those moments where Bucky almost steps out of his own head and sees himself from a distance, and he has to tell himself, _this is your life, you get to have this now._

“It was a nice day,” Bucky says instead. “I’m really glad I got to be a part of it.”

“You’re going to be a part of everything from now on,” Louis says, tracing the arch of Bucky’s eyebrow with his thumb. “Shit, I can’t stop touching you.”

“Don’t stop touching me,” Bucky says. His hands are on Louis’ hips, anchoring him in place, and they feel hot where they meet Louis’ clothing. His right palm is sweating, and his left is crackling with the anticipation.

There are two categories of energy. There’s kinetic energy, the energy of motion. The energy of Bucky reaching through space and time against all the odds to meet this man, to run after him down the street, to touch his body and kiss his sacred mouth.

And the other category is potential energy, the energy that is stored up and kept secure for the future when you’re ready for it. The energy of possibility, the energy that hasn’t done anything yet but promises you _maybe, maybe, maybe_.

“I’m not stopping,” Louis says. “Not unless you tell me to.” He slides one of his palms down Bucky’s chest, locates the solid thump of his heart. “It’s beating so fast, love.”

It’s not, really. Not for most people. Probably just about thirty beats per minute. Far too slow for the average person, but elevated for Bucky. And Louis knows that about him, has spent these months learning all his eccentricities.

“We could,” Bucky starts. He takes a deep breath and looks at Louis, sees the power of his feelings so plain on his face, and he knows. “We could try something. Let’s try something.”

“Yeah? Are you sure?” Louis asks. Bucky nods, and Louis smiles. “Fuck. Brilliant. I really want to play with your dick right now.”

“Go for it,” Bucky says with a weak laugh. He doesn’t know how this is going to go, if it’s even going to _work_. But he wants to try. He wants to put his faith into Louis and let go and lose himself.

“I’m so fucking hot for you right now,” Louis says, sliding off of Bucky’s lap and slumping to the floor between his legs. He presses a kiss to Bucky’s clothed knee and then slides his hands up Bucky’s thighs. “Is that fucked up? Getting so turned on just because a really fit man was really nice to my son?”

“Get used to it,” Bucky says. “I’m planning to be nice to you both for a long time.”

“Cheers,” Louis whispers. He presses his hands into Bucky’s thighs, using the leverage to raise himself up and gently kiss Bucky’s mouth. “Tell me if you change your mind and you want to stop, yeah?”

“Okay,” Bucky says softly, but he doesn’t think he’s going to change his mind.

“Just relax,” Louis says. He kisses Bucky again, and then he slides back down to the floor and unbuttons Bucky’s pants. “Just let me take care of you, okay? Just let me make you feel good.”

“Okay,” Bucky says again, lifting his hips as Louis tugs his jeans down his legs.

“I’ve got you,” Louis says quietly.

Louis takes Bucky’s metal hand in his and brings it to his mouth. He kisses Bucky’s thumb and then sucks the tip of Bucky’s index finger past his lips, lets it rest on his supple wet tongue just for a moment. Then he pushes Bucky’s hand down, and that’s what he feels first, his own palm against his dick through the thin material of his boxers. He wasn’t expecting it, it’s sensitive on sensitive with Louis’ steady hand guiding all of it, and he gasps from it.

“Okay?” Louis asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says shakily. “Yeah, Lou, it’s good.”

“Good,” Louis says. He keeps steady pressure on top of Bucky’s hand, and he didn’t think he would, especially not this fast, but he’s already getting hard.

They’ve discussed all of this. Exhaustively. It was awkward and hesitant, but they were determined to understand each other. So Louis knows that there’s a before, a Bucky from the 40s who’d dated women and slept with them and liked the experience well enough and hadn’t given it any thought. And there’s an after, the Bucky who woke up a weapon and couldn’t bear to cede an inch of control out of fear of hurting someone else. This Bucky, the Bucky he’s been the last several years, has held himself in such check that he’s not even sure what his body is capable of. He hasn’t attempted to sleep with anyone in decades, and he hasn’t really missed it, hasn’t even given it much thought. Hasn’t even really found himself attracted to anyone. He gets hard sometimes, rarely, but it goes away pretty easily on its own. His body tends to itself in ways he can’t even comprehend.

And it’s always been those two Buckys, the normal one he was before and the dissociated weapon he became. But he’s starting to realize there might be a third Bucky, the one he’s becoming with Louis. The one who can love and be gentle and be vulnerable. And neither of them knows what this third Bucky will be capable of, but they’re both willing to find out.

“You’re doing good, love,” Louis says. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Louis pushes Bucky’s hand aside and eases his own inside Bucky’s shorts, and that’s it, then. That’s Louis’ hand, soft and warm and sure, curled right around Bucky’s dick, and Bucky’s hips move without him telling them to, rocking into Louis’ touch.

“Shit,” he hisses. Louis’ barely even doing anything, but Bucky’s body is already chasing that touch. He didn’t expect his body to be so easy for Louis, not this fast, but he supposes it’s not really that fast at all. The two of them have been teetering on the edge of this precipice for such a long time now that maybe it’s inevitable that even just this slight touch could send him plummeting.

“So greedy,” Louis murmurs. “That’s okay, darling. I’m going to give you everything you want.” He leans in and presses his lips to the outline of Bucky’s cock through his shorts, smirking when it jumps under his attention. “Hello to you, too.”

Louis slips his hand out of Bucky’s shorts and rolls them down enough to release Bucky’s dick, hard like it hasn’t been in forever. Bucky watches as Louis wraps his hand around it, stroking it casually, like this isn’t about to short circuit every last bit of Bucky’s own understanding of himself.

“Oh good,” Louis says. “It’s normal.”

“What does that mean?” Bucky pants, impressed that he even remembers how words work when Louis keeps _touching him_ like that.

“Oh, you know,” Louis says, rubbing his thumb along the underside of Bucky’s cock. “I mean, I love you, but I don’t ‘fourteen inches of robodick down me throat’ love you.”

Louis’ hand feels so fucking good that Bucky’s barely even listening to his words, and it takes a minute for them to catch up with his brain and make phonological sense.

“Lou?” _He said… Did he mean…? But he_ said _…._

“I know what I said,” Louis says, looking down at his hand on Bucky. “Don’t make it weird.”

“You love me?”

“Obviously,” Louis says softly. “Jesus, of course I do. Don’t go on about it.” He finally looks up to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I know you can’t say it back, not right now, and it’s okay. I don’t expect you to. But, I mean…I mean, if you _wanted_ to, like if you do feel it, or you think you might someday or summat, you could… you could squeeze my hand and just let me know without having to say it. But it’s okay if you don’t.”

Bucky looks down at Louis, and he thinks about how much power this man has over him, even kneeling there on the floor with his emotions plain and clear on his face, wrapped up in the security of knowing how he feels. Every time that Louis reveals himself to Bucky, there is a serenity in his vulnerability, and there is a strength that comes from his conviction. And Bucky can’t say it, doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to say it, but he reaches for Louis’ free hand with his metal one, and he gives it just the smallest squeeze, tentative and ephemeral. And then he takes a deep breath and swallows hard, and he tightens his grasp on Louis’ hand. And the stronger he squeezes, the more vulnerable he becomes, and the bigger Louis’ smile gets. And this is worth it. It’s fucking terrifying, and he doesn’t know if he’ll survive any of this, but it’s worth it like nothing’s ever been worth anything before.

“Sick,” Louis says with a brilliant smile, and then he bows deeply into Bucky’s lap and swallows his dick down. Bucky only has a second to experience it, to parse out the millions of sensory receptors sparking to life and transmitting signals up and down his spine before Louis pops off, saying, “It _is_ normal, yeah? Doesn’t shoot lasers or anything like that?”

“Just shoots the normal stuff,” Bucky says breathlessly, and Louis collapses in laughter, his forehead tucked against Bucky’s thigh, his entire body shaking.

“Good to know,” Louis says when he catches his breath. His hair is sticking up weird from how it rubbed against Bucky’s leg. He looks beautiful. “I’m mad for you, you know that?” He guides Bucky’s metal hand to his head. “Move me how you want me, yeah? However you want it.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says gruffly. He doesn’t know how this arm will react when he lets his guard down, and the idea of having it right again Louis’ precious head is fuckin _ridic--_

“Well, I don’t want you to hurt me either, love,” Louis says with a lopsided smile. “So don’t. I trust you.”

“What if I don’t trust myself?”

“Then I’m just going to trust you enough for both of us,” Louis says, leaning in to lick at Bucky’s dick. “Now be quiet so I can make you come.”

It’s weird and terrifying, the tension of trying to lose himself to Louis while still being so aware that his hand is _right there_ on Louis’ head. But...he does lose himself; he can’t help it. Louis’ mouth is so warm and articulate against Bucky’s skin. And Bucky doesn’t know how long it takes, if it’s minutes or hours or seventy godforsaken years, but he gives in, and he lets his body have what it wants, and he hopes that his id knows that Louis is fucking precious and not to be harmed. And Bucky closes his eyes, and he fucking submits, for once in his life. And when he comes, he’d expected it to be violent and monstrous, if it was anything at all. But it’s not like that. It’s gentle and dreamy, a gasp of air as he breaks towards the surface, a warm, fuzzy feeling that starts in Louis’ lulling mouth and moves through Bucky’s veins like syrup, creeping back towards his heart to be redistributed everywhere in his body.

“You all right, then?” Louis asks. He scampers up onto the couch next to Bucky, nonchalantly tucking him back into his shorts and kissing the corner of his jaw. “You’ve been quiet a long time now.”

“I think you broke my brain,” Bucky says after a bit.

“Well I intended to blow your mind, but certainly not literally.” Louis breath is even and warm against Bucky’s throat. “But are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” Bucky says, turning to kiss the top of Louis’ head. “Shit. I’m awesome.”

“You are awesome,” Louis says, thumbing small circles over Bucky’s clavicle.

“You’re awesome, too,” Bucky murmurs, finding Louis’ lips with his and kissing him softly.

“Okay, okay, everyone’s awesome,” Louis says when he pulls back a minute later. “You’re okay with the other bit, too? What I said earlier?”

“I’m okay with all of it,” Bucky says fondly. “You’re a lot to handle, Louis Tomlinson.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Louis says. “And you can go ahead and handle me any which way you’d prefer.”

“I’d like to do that for you,” Bucky says, cradling Louis’ face in his hand. “What do you want?”

“Yeah?” Louis asks. Bucky nods, and Louis asks brightly, “Any chance you’d be willing to wank me off with your robohand?”

Bucky laughs until his ribs ache pleasantly, and then he does.

*

It’s so easy to fall into a routine, and then to repeat it, and then to fall deeper and faster until it starts to feel like this is all he’s ever done. Bucky is great with routines. He thrives on repetition. There’s something so satisfying and rewarding about the cycle of his time with Louis. The tasks don’t always happen in the same predictable order. There is room for deviation and spontaneity. But there is a predictable continuity to their time together, and it’s fucking thrilling.

Bucky learns the jogging trails around Louis’ neighborhood, and sometimes he wakes up early and runs them by himself. Louis is usually still asleep when Bucky returns. Sometimes the sound of the shower running wakes him up, and sometimes Louis slips in there with him if Bucky feels like having company. Sometimes they just wash up together, and sometimes Bucky pulls Louis off while he kisses him under the spray. Sometimes Bucky wants to be in the shower alone, and Louis just sits on the counter and babbles to him about whatever crosses his mind. Sometimes, Louis doesn’t wake up at all, and Bucky tumbles back into bed and they both sleep for a few more hours. All of these things happen, and they’ve all happened dozens of times in different combinations. Every outcome is good. Life with Louis is so, so good.

*

Everything is black and then everything is white, and throughout it all, he’s cold, he’s so fucking cold that he’s pretty sure he’ll never be warm again. Something is holding him down, and he can’t move, can’t talk, can’t scream, and it feels like he should be numb to every possible human emotion, and yet the panic still manages to creep in like smoke down his throat and into his lungs, like every breath makes him more and more afraid until he’s choking on the terror.

“You’re okay,” Louis is saying, his hands firm on Bucky’s shoulders, and that’s when he realizes that he’s thrashing and fighting and Louis is trying to hold him down. “You’re safe, love, I’ve got you.”

“Lou,” Bucky says weakly, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. It’s night, and they’re in bed, the room dim and shadowed as the low-energy bulb slowly warms up in its lamp. Louis is straddling him on his hands and knees, using all of his body weight to hold Bucky down, and he looks terrified.

“You were having a bad dream,” Louis says softly, his eyes wide and uneasy as he settles back down on his own side of the bed. “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky asks urgently, turning to inspect Louis, checking his face and neck and throat for any signs of trauma, frantically scanning his arms and torso. Louis can’t just jump in like this, he always thinks he’s so invincible but he’s _not_ , and if something ever happened to him because of something Bucky did--

“I’m fine,” Louis says, reaching for both of Bucky’s hands and squeezing them. “We’re both fine. You were just having a bad dream, but it’s over now.”

Bucky nods gruffly, then he reaches over Louis to turn off the light and lies down on his back, looking up at the ceiling.

“Your heartbeat is shaking the whole bed,” Louis says gently. “Do you want to talk about it? We can turn the light back on.”

“Leave it off,” Bucky says. He rolls onto his side and rests his head on Louis’ chest. Their hearts are both beating too fast, but Louis’ gradually slows, and Bucky wills his pulse into rhythm with him, two beats of Louis’ heart for every one of Bucky’s, then three for one, and then they’re both okay again.

“I was so cold,” Bucky says eventually, his lips brushing against Louis’ skin with each hesitant word.

“In your dream?”

“It was a memory.”

They haven’t talked too much about any of this. Louis knows the general damage that has been done to Bucky, he knows some of the aftershocks and has experienced some of Bucky’s triggers in action, but there are large portions of Bucky’s own life that he doesn’t like to examine, and Louis doesn’t pry.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Louis says. His fingers are working through Bucky’s hair, and that touch is his tether as Bucky stares straight ahead into darkness.

“There was a train,” Bucky says, and it feels like telling a story. _Once upon a time, I died_. “Through the mountains, above a river. And I fell, and it felt like I was falling for hours, just waiting to hit the water, and the whole time I fell, I was so cold, Lou.” He still feels cold now, just from recalling it, and he rubs his hands together to warm them. “I don’t even remember landing, but I woke up in the snow, and someone was dragging me by my legs, and my arm was gone, and I was so cold that it didn’t even hurt, and that’s it. That’s the last thing I remember about before.”

Louis doesn’t say anything, just keeps moving his fingers through Bucky’s hair, stroking his face and scratching gently at his scalp, and Bucky keeps on through the pitch black past.

“I don’t remember all of what happened after. There are moments that are sharp and bright and hard to look at, and then there are parts that feel really dull and disconnected from me. Like it feels like a memory of something I saw or something I read, not something I lived, even though I know I did. And then lots of blanks. Maybe that’s for the best. The parts that I remember are bad enough.”

“It was a long time ago,” Louis says gently. “You’re not him any more.”

“I did bad things to people,” Bucky whispers. “And people did bad things to me.”

Louis’ hands suddenly stop moving in Bucky’s hair. “What bad things did people do to you?”

“I was shot,” he says, and the words are coming out of his mouth, but it feels like someone else saying it. “A lot of times, I was shot. I was stabbed. I was burned a couple times. I don’t remember all of it happening. Some of it I do. Some of it, I just remember from what it felt like later. I had a lot of scars back then that I don’t have anymore. I was covered in them. You wouldn’t have even wanted to touch me.”

“I will always want to touch you,” Louis says stiffly.

“I...they used me to do a lot of bad things, Lou.” He hates this part. He hates that he wasn’t strong enough to resist them, even though everyone tells him there was nothing he could have done. He fucking _hates_ what he became, what they made him become. “They used me strategically, like I was just a tool to them and I stopped being a person entirely. There was no me. There was just the _mission_.” Even now, the word tastes coppery and bitter on his tongue. “They gave me orders and made me think that I was helping a cause, but everything I did made this world worse. Sowing chaos to make people less safe, more afraid. And when I completed my mission, they usually just froze me until they needed me again, and I could feel it happening, the way my blood got slow and thick and my thoughts were just a little bit out of reach, and I couldn’t stop it, I couldn’t do anything to make them stop. And if I started questioning, if I started trying to find my way back to who I used to be, they erased me and started over.”

“What does that mean?”

“They had this machine, and they strapped me down and….” And those were always the moments that Bucky was closest to his true self, when he could see through the mist, past the mission. When he didn’t feel compliant, when he had to decide if he would fight or just submit and let them do to him whatever they wanted to do, and it was usually easier to go along with it, but it still-- “It hurt, Louis.” It hurts now, when he’s admitting it, and it hurt then, when it was happening to him and he couldn’t make it stop. It was fire and acid, and they burned out every last bit of himself, and he could feel it as it left, right up until the moment it was gone. “It really, really hurt.”

He’s horrified to realize that he’s crying a little, that these stupid long-buried emotions are manifesting in the present to stain Louis’ soft skin. Bucky never cries. He wasn’t even sure he still could, but he is, and Louis is still perfectly quiet, his hands motionless against Bucky’s head. He’s probably terrified. This was too much information, and Louis didn’t sign up to be in love with a monster.

“Sorry,” Bucky chokes out. “Sorry, I’ll go.”

“Don’t you dare,” Louis says, and his voice is wet and thick, and he reaches down and wraps his arms around Bucky, squeezing him tight like he’s trying to hold him together. Bucky hugs him back, shifts his weight so his cheek is touching Louis’, and he can feel how Louis is trembling as he cries.

“I thought maybe this was too much for you to take,” Bucky says. “I thought maybe I finally scared you off.”

“I’ll fucking kill all of them,” Louis says, and his voice is forceful and cold like Bucky has never heard before. “Anyone who did anything to you. I want them all to suffer for what they did.”

“They’re gone now,” Bucky says. “It was a long time ago, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Louis says. He pulls back, angrily swipes at his nose with the back of his hand. “Shit, I know should be the strong one for you, but I’m just so…. The idea that someone could do that to you. To _you_.”

“I’m fine now,” Bucky says. “Louis, I’m fine.”

“I _love_ you,” Louis says fiercely. “Nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again. Not ever.”

“I know,” Bucky says, and he’s already said everything else, doesn’t have any secrets, might as well just tell him already. “And I love you, too.”

Louis nods curtly, then he takes a couple deep breaths, blinks a few times. Then he cups Bucky’s face and looks into his eyes, serious as anything, and he kisses him light and desperate, sweet and inquisitive. A question and an answer.

“I know I don’t have any cool superpowers,” Louis says when he pulls back, “and I’m not in the best shape of me life right now, but I’m going to keep you safe. However I can. You’re safe now, here with me.”

“I know,” Bucky says. He doesn’t know that, can’t possibly know that, but with Louis looking at him this way, it feels true, so he lets himself believe.

“Do you want to try sleeping now?” Louis asks softly, rubbing Bucky’s metal shoulder. “I can watch over you for once.”

“Not sure I’m going to be able to do any more sleeping tonight,” Bucky says. The skin under his eyes feels tight and strange from crying, and he’s exhausted, but he thinks it’s going to be at least a few more nights until he can sleep again.

“That’s okay,” Louis says, kissing Bucky’s forehead. “We can just be awake together.”

And so that’s what they do, the both of them just lying together in the dark, quiet and still and awake. Bucky is perfectly stationary, like always, but Louis is a little more restless. His breathing is a little louder, and the blankets rustle as he moves his feet or repositions his arms or strokes his fingers lightly up and down Bucky’s back. It’s okay that Louis makes a little bit of noise, though. Bucky is only silent because it’s how he’s built. It’s not the quiet that he craves from Louis; it’s the steadfast comfort of his presence, solid and warm and permanent beside Bucky in the bed.

It’s hours before Louis turns to him, tucks his chin right against Bucky’s shoulder and murmurs, “This might not be the right time to have this discussion, but I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, shifting his arm around Louis and pulling him closer.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you to move in, but I didn’t know how to do it. But I want you to, so I’m asking. If you’d like to move in here. With me.”

“Really?” Bucky’s never even thought about it. He’s already with Louis almost all the time, and he didn’t realize there was a step beyond that.

“I don’t think too much would change,” Louis says softly. “I mean, you can still keep your flat if you need to have your own space to be alone sometimes. I’d understand that. But I would like for us to have a place together. When you think of home, I want you to think of me. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but I’m just letting you know that’s something I want.”

“I’ve never lived with anyone else,” Bucky says slowly. “I’ve always been alone.”

“I know you haven’t done this before,” Louis says. “And I know you were alone for a long time, but you’re not alone anymore. You’re with me now, and you never have to be alone again if you don’t want to be.”

“What would it be like?” Bucky asks. “Help me see what you’re imagining.”

“It would be like this,” Louis says. “Just like this, but more. You and me here, in our house, in our bed. Your clothes in the wardrobe. Your food in the fridge. All of your things would be here, mixed in with my things.”

“I don’t have many things,” Bucky says instead of what he’s thinking: _What if you change your mind after I’m already here and you don’t know how to make me leave? What if you end up resenting the times that I need to be alone? What if Freddie isn’t okay with this? What if you decide you’d rather be with someone normal and you stop loving me and you take all of this away from me after we’ve both made these promises? What would I ever do without you?_

“We can get you things, if you want,” Louis says. “And there’s loads of space here for you to keep them. There’s a few rooms I’m not using at all, and you could do anything you wanted with them. Build a gym. Build an office. Any room except for Freddie’s, really. We can redecorate, change things around.” He rubs his cold nose against Bucky’s neck, but Bucky doesn’t mind. “Make them ours. Our home together.”

“I never thought I’d get to have something like that,” Bucky says, and his mind is racing too fast for him to keep up.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Louis says. “I’m just telling you. That’s what I want. If that’s something you decide you want, you can have that with me.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bucky whispers.

“Good,” Louis says. He reaches across Bucky’s body for his metal hand, brings it to his mouth. He kisses each of Bucky’s fingertips in turn, soft and dry, and then he says, “I want to be with you forever, Bucky Barnes. That’s what I’m offering you, if you want it.”

“How can you know?” Bucky asks. He’s been alive for so long, and he’s been so many different people, and if he’s learned anything at all, it’s that absolutely everything changes. “How can you know you won’t change your mind?”

“I know,” Louis says simply, starting to kiss Bucky’s wrist. “I know it the same way you know it.” He parts his lips, touches his tongue to Bucky’s metal, and Bucky shudders. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “What’s it taste like, Lou?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never licked your own metal arm, Bucky Barnes?” Louis teases. He drags his tongue delicately up Bucky’s forearm, tracing out a lackadaisical trail that has Bucky’s plates fluttering and reorienting.

“What’s it taste like to _you_?”

“All right then,” Louis says thoughtfully. He laps a broad stroke right to Bucky’s elbow. “A little sweet. A little salty. Cold, but it warms up quick.” He kisses a path over Bucky’s biceps, then back to his triceps, and his voice is a little muffled as he says, “When I taste it, it feels like it’s tasting me back, and sometimes it changes under my tongue and becomes something different. Does that make sense?”

“No,” Bucky says. “But I’m a hundred and three years old with a robotic arm, so I gave up on anything making sense a long time ago.”

“Are you ticklish?” Louis asks. He folds Bucky’s arm above his head and kisses where his armpit would be. Bucky squirms a little under his touch.

“Just the same sensitive as everywhere else, I think,” Bucky says, considering. “But that spot isn’t used to you yet, so it’s a little more intense.”

“I like that your arm is getting used to me,” Louis says. “Not as scared and jumpy as it used to be.”

“You were a lot to handle all at once,” Bucky murmurs. “It was overwhelming.”

“Now I’m boring,” Louis says with a lazy smile. He mouths at the star on Bucky’s upper arm, and Bucky groans from the feel of it, delicious and decadent. “Are you bored, love?”

“Extremely,” Bucky says, with a small gasp. He’s getting hard, and he can feel that Louis is, too. Louis has his mouth right at the seam of Bucky’s arm now, tracing it with his tongue, and it’s half on his skin and half on his metal, and it’s so sensitive that Bucky can barely stand it. He flips them over so he’s on top, looking down at Louis panting up at him.

“Yeah?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs, ducking his head to kiss Louis as he grinds down against him.

“Fuck yeah,” Louis agrees happily, looping his arms around Bucky and pressing his palms to his back.

They’ve done this a few times, but it always takes Bucky so much longer to finish that he feels almost guilty by the time he finally comes. Louis has told him before that it’s not a race, it’s not a competition, they’re on the same side, but Bucky can’t help but feel like the partner who’s holding the team back. But he’s feeling just a little bit delirious from no sleep and too many emotions pushed too near the surface, and it feels like he’s already on the verge of slipping away, like maybe he could just ride this out and love it, the way Louis always seems so able to.

“Love how you feel above me,” Louis murmurs, pushing his hips up to meet Bucky’s. “So fit. So fucking strong.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head and licks at the sweat on the side of Louis’ neck. He pulls back for a moment, just long enough to shuck off his sweatpants so they’re both down to their boxers, and then he’s back on Louis, skin to skin nearly everywhere, and Louis whines softly, dragging his toes up the back of Bucky’s bare leg.

“So fit,” Louis says again. “I’d let you do anything to me, fuck.” He blinks up at Bucky like he’s trying to focus. “Would you hold me down?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like.” Louis licks his lips, and then he puts his arms above his head on the pillow. “Would you just hold my arms down? I like that sometimes.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Bucky says automatically.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Louis says. “You always say that, but you’ve never hurt me, and you’re never going to. Can we just...try? If it makes you uncomfortable, we can stop, but I think we should try so you can see it’s okay.”

“You have to tell me if it hurts,” Bucky says, and then he loosely covers each of Louis’ wrists with his hands. His center of mass shifts, and he sinks heavily onto Louis, can feel the way Louis’ chest moves each time he sucks in air.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Louis says breathlessly, closing his eyes. “I like it.”

“If you want to stop, tell me you want to stop and we will,” Bucky says awkwardly. This is normally Louis’ line. Louis is always the one reassuring Bucky that it will be okay, that they can stop, that he’s the one in control.

“Thank you,” Louis says with a small smile. He swivels his hips under Bucky, and they both groan. “Make me come, love. Use me to make yourself come.”

It’s weird, it’s fucking _weird_ to be the one setting the pace to this extent. They always do however much Bucky wants to do, it’s always on his terms and his boundaries, but Louis is the one who guides them right along that path. And now they’re doing what Louis wants, and it’s up to Bucky to walk that line. And if he thinks about it, he’s going to sink down into his head, and he’s going to get lost, and Louis isn’t going to get to have what he wants.

So Bucky tries to focus on making Louis feel good, and he re-settles his weight so their hips are aligned. His forearms bracket Louis’ own so that his force is mostly going into the pillow as he holds himself up, just a fraction of it being used to keep Louis in place.

“Do you like this?” Bucky murmurs, slotting his thigh between Louis’ legs and letting the weight of his leg settle heavy against Louis’ cock before pulling back slightly. Louis’ body follows his, and Louis keens when he can’t reach, when he’s circling his hips against nothing.

“You’re teasing me,” Louis says breathlessly. “You never tease me. Fuck.”

“Is that okay?” Bucky whispers next to Louis’ ear, and that’s Louis’ line in Bucky’s mouth, they’re all up inside each other.

“Shit,” Louis moans, and his whole body shivers. “It’s good, Bucky. Don’t stop.”

Louis wraps his leg entirely around Bucky’s body and rocks up against him wantonly, taking what he wants. He’s so, so hard against Bucky’s hip, and he writhes gracelessly as he works himself against Bucky’s body. Louis is always in control, always taking care of Bucky. He never gets to have this.

Bucky is going to give him this.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky says, driving hard with his hips, pushing Louis back down into the bed. There’s something so natural about this feeling of caging Louis in without hurting him. When Bucky stops thinking and lets his body take over, his body still wants to keep Louis safe and protected.

So he kisses Louis hard, swallows down Louis’ whimpers as they vibrate against his mouth, and Louis takes advantage of the limited amount of mobility he has to rock his hips against Bucky, working his hard cock against Bucky’s abs. And it never happens this fast for him, but Bucky feels something desperate and needy and primal working its way through his veins, and he growls softly, low in his throat, and he closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Louis’, and they pant their hot breath against each other’s faces as they use each other to bring themselves off. And when they come -- Louis first, but Bucky soon after -- it isn’t even a question. This is okay.

It never takes long for Bucky to catch his breath and collect his senses, so he’s already kissing Louis’ neck by the time Louis manages to gather his wits and whisper, “Fuck, that was good.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says. “I thought so, too.”

“You’re brilliant,” Louis says, smiling up at Bucky. He looks exhausted and dopey, and Bucky did that to him, just like he wanted. It feels nice to make Louis feel nice.

“What do you want now?” Bucky asks. “What can I do for you?”

“You could get off of me and kiss my wrists and get us a flannel and some clean pants,” Louis suggests with a hopeful lilt to his voice.

“Why am I always the one cleaning up around here?” Bucky grumbles, but he doesn’t mean it, not one bit. He rolls them onto their sides so he can see Louis’ face, see the way he smiles so bright in the morning light, and he takes each of Louis’ wrists in turn, brings them to his mouth and kisses them reverently while looking into Louis’ pleased eyes.

“I’m still sticky,” Louis says with a melodramatic pout. Bucky rolls his eyes, but he kisses those pursed lips anyway.

“Stay right there,” Bucky says as he gets out of bed. “Not that I’m really worried about your lazy ass going anywhere.”

“My lazy arse will be right here when you get back,” Louis says with a delighted smile. “Go on now.”

Bucky grabs a pair of shorts for himself and cleans up in the bathroom. Then he lets the water run warmer, testing the temperature with each of his hands before fixing a damp cloth for Louis. He walks back into the bedroom and presents Louis with his cloth and a clean pair of boxers, and he sits on the corner of the bed while Louis cleans himself up.

“Thanks, love, that’s much better,” Louis says. “What are you doing all the way over there? Come back here and give us a cuddle.”

“You know, you won’t die if you go fifteen minutes of your life without touching me,” Bucky says as he slips back under the covers, into the warmth and safety of Louis’ embrace.

“I might,” Louis mumbles, running his deft fingers over Bucky’s ribcage. “Don’t wanna chance it.”

“Is that why you want me to move in?” Bucky asks. “If I say yes, am I just enabling an addict?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Louis says. “Just a little perk for me. If it’s okay with you. You know that you can always make me stop if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, can I?” Bucky teases. “You’ve only told me that a dozen times a day for the last ten months.”

“Don’t ever want you to feel uncomfortable,” Louis murmurs. He’s starting to sound sleepy.

“I know,” Bucky says, “and I appreciate that.” He tightens his arms around Louis and ducks his head, tucks his lips right against Louis’ ear as he whispers so, so softly, “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Love hearing you say that.” Louis reaches for Bucky’s metal hand, squeezes it tight. “Think about it as long as you need to, but you belong here with me. It’s inevitable, I think we both know that.”

“What if Cliff doesn’t want me here?”

“Cliff’s not the boss,” Louis mumbles. “I’m the boss.”

“What if Freddie doesn’t want me here?”

Louis sighs, long and low. “I’m going to show you something, and then we’re both coming right back to this bed for a kip. Get up.”

“Now?”

“Move your arse, let’s go.”

They get out of bed, and Louis takes Bucky’s hand firmly in his own and leads him out of the bedroom and down the hallway. They stop in front of a door with a decal of Spider-Man’s mask.

“This is Freddie’s room,” Bucky says.

“Yes,” Louis says, opening the door. “It is.”

Louis flicks on the light, and they step inside. Bucky saw this room on his original tour of the house months ago, but he hasn’t been back more than a handful of times. It’s still the same infamous Spider-Man room it’s always been, with its graphic sheets and elaborate mural on the wall. Bucky isn’t entirely sure what they’re doing here, and he’s about to say so, when he sees it.

On Freddie’s bed, propped up against his red and blue pillows, is a stuffed Winter Soldier toy.

“What’s that?” Bucky asks, his heart beating loud in his ears.

“He asked for it,” Louis says softly. “It was his idea. He wanted it, and Bria and I went mad trying to find it. They stopped making your official merchandise a long time ago, you know that?”

“What?” This doesn’t make sense. Louis’ saying words, but they don’t make sense.

“We had to commission them from someone online.”

“Them?”

“One for each house. They’re handmade and expensive as anything, but he wanted them. He asked for them, Bucky.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, or how to process any of this, or what it means. He turns to Louis helplessly, and Louis squeezes his hand.

“Guess Tomlinson lads just sleep better with a Winter Soldier looking out for them,” Louis says with a crooked smile, and Bucky isn’t going to cry again, not so soon after this last time, but he’s awfully close.

“Then I guess he wouldn’t mind a real one sleeping down the hall,” Bucky manages to say.

“Don’t think he’d mind one bit,” Louis says gently, pushing up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “C’mon, love. It’s been a long night. Let’s see if we can get you to sleep.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, and he lets himself be led out of the room and back down the hallway, lets Louis tuck him into bed and tangle their limbs up together, lets Louis kiss his face softly and play with his hair until they’re both lazy and calm. And Louis told him to sleep, so Bucky finally lets himself do that, too.

*

A few weeks later, they’re sitting on the couch, watching yet another footie game in the apparently neverending season of footie games before they have to bring Freddie back to Briana’s. Bucky’s getting better about understanding the rules and remembering the players’ names. He doesn’t get swept up in the excitement the way that Louis does, and probably never will, but there’s something pleasing about watching the men work together to accomplish their tasks. Bucky likes the physicality of it all, and he suspects he might enjoy playing the sport. It’s something to discuss with Louis, perhaps. At its heart, the sport is an extremely low-stakes war requiring supreme athleticism and planning and skill, and something about that is comforting for Bucky.

Or maybe it’s just comforting how Louis is sitting to his left, plastered to his side, laughing and cursing and cheering as he follows each play. To Bucky’s right, Cliff is sprawled out on the couch, his soft head heavy against Bucky’s thigh. Louis is idly scratching Cliff behind the ears without taking his eyes away from the screen, and Bucky has a hand flat and still against Cliff’s broad flank, and Cliff’s tail is thumping contentedly against the couch.

Freddie is sitting in a small red chair at his own small red table off to the side, focusing very hard on something that he’s drawing, occasionally popping his head up to cheer when he hears Louis get excited about something. Freddie probably doesn’t even know what’s going on, he’s following the game even less than Bucky is, but Louis is contagious. Bucky loves that about him.

Bucky considers Louis’ profile carefully, the scruff on his face, the fine lines around his eyes from a lifetime of laughing, the handsome slope of his nose and the otherworldly angles of his cheek and jaw. Louis catches Bucky looking at him and smiles his devastating smile, and Bucky wants this like he’s never wanted anything in his life. He wants it all.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, so Freddie won’t hear. “If it’s still okay, I want to move in. If I’m still invited and you didn’t change your mind.”

Louis stops petting Cliff so that he can take Bucky’s face in both his hands. Cliff whines at the loss of attention, but they both ignore him, and he eventually settles down and goes back to sleep.

“Of course I didn’t change my mind,” Louis says softly. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Because you can have a longer think about it if you’re not ready.”

“I want this,” Bucky says. “I want this with you.”

“Brilliant,” Louis says. “Shit, that’s brilliant. We can tell Freddie after the match, yeah? I already gave Briana the heads up, and she said we could discuss it with him whenever we decided.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, and he quickly scans himself for any signs of anxiety. But his respiration rate doesn’t increase, his pulse is steady and constant, and he feels just as calm and hopeful as he did a moment ago. Freddie will be okay with this, and Bucky isn’t worried.

When the match ends, Louis turns off the TV, and they walk over to where Freddie is still coloring up a storm.

“What are you working on?” Bucky asks him.

“It’s a picture of me and my friend Squish,” Freddie says without looking up.

“Squish?” Louis repeats with a bemused smile. “What’s that, a nickname?”

“It’s his name, Dad,” Freddie says seriously.

“I like your picture,” Bucky says. And he means it. He’s never very good at figuring out what Freddie is drawing, but he likes the colors and the boldness and the way Freddie tries to fill the whole page. There is a picture on the fridge in his apartment, a black and green and orange chaotic swirl that Freddie assures him is a picture of the three of them. Bucky will have to remember to bring that with him when he moves in.

“Bucky and I need to have a talk with you about something, lad,” Louis says.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Not at all.”

“Do I have to stop coloring?”

“Can you color and listen at the same time?” Louis asks.

“Yeah.”

“Promise?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow, and Freddie nods vigorously. “What would you think about Bucky moving into this house?”

“Would he go back and forth to Mommy’s with me?”

“No, lad. He’d just stay here. Like Uncle Austin just stays with your mum and doesn’t come here.”

“Is Bucky my uncle?” Freddie asks suspiciously.

“No, Freddie. He’s my boyfriend.” It’s been more than eight months since the first time Louis used that word to describe him, and it still makes Bucky feel perfectly, beautifully satisfied each time he hears it. “Do you know what that means?”

“Mommy had a boyfriend,” Freddie says. He turns his blue crayon upside down and starts scrawling with the wrong end. “Brad.”

“That’s right,” Louis says. “And I had a boyfriend before, too. Remember Uncle Niall?”

“Oh,” Freddie says. “I forgot that, but I remember now.”

Freddie turns his paper ninety degrees clockwise and continues coloring, not looking up. Bucky has no idea what he’s thinking, and it’s a little maddening, but he’s determined to be patient and to let Louis lead this discussion.

“Wait,” Freddie says. “If Uncle Niall was your boyfriend and Bucky is your boyfriend, why isn’t Bucky my uncle?”

“Niall is your uncle because he was my good mate when you were born, and he became my boyfriend much later. You’re not getting any more uncles, lad.”

“Are you sure you’re not my uncle?” Freddie asks, and he looks right at Bucky this time.

“Do you want me to be your uncle?” Bucky asks him, unsure what he’s supposed to say, but desperate for this to work. “You can call me Uncle Bucky if you want to. Whatever you like.”

“No,” Freddie says with a frown. “That’s silly. You’re just Bucky.” He returns to his coloring.

“I know this is a lot for you to understand,” Louis says, “but I need to know if you’re okay with Bucky living here. It’s all right if you don’t know how you feel. We can talk about it another time if you’d rather.”

“Are you in love with Bucky?” Freddie asks. He pushes his picture aside and plants his elbows on the table, settling his chin in his hands.

“Yes,” Louis says simply.

“Is he going to move out like Brad did?”

“No,” Louis says. “I hope not.”

“No,” Bucky says. “I want to stay. But only if it’s okay with you.”

“Bucky, you can stay in my room when I’m at Mommy’s,” Freddie says, and something tickles dangerously inside Bucky’s chest. The idea that this child would offer up his own personal space to Bucky is a kindness he can’t fathom.

“Bucky is going to stay in my room, Freddie,” Louis says gently. “Is that okay?”

“That’s okay.”

“Is all the rest of it okay?”

“Dad,” Freddie says patiently. “It’s okay. Can I finish coloring?”

“Go ahead, lad,” Louis says, and he smiles down at the blond top of Freddie’s bowed head. Bucky reaches for him, slings an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him into his body, and Louis sighs softly.

“You raised a good kid,” Bucky murmurs. He’s going to be a part of this family, and it’s nearly incomprehensible that he could ever be this lucky, and he doesn’t want to wait any longer for it to begin. “Let’s just swing by my place after we drop him off and pack up my things and get this done.”

“Yeah? Should we rent a truck?”

“I don’t have a lot of stuff,” Bucky says. “It should all fit in the Range Rover.”

“Wicked,” Louis says, tipping his head onto Bucky’s shoulder, and they both stay there and watch Freddie color.

*

Louis has never been to Bucky’s apartment before, and he never will again, because it isn’t going to be Bucky’s apartment anymore after today. This is the first and last time, and Louis wanders through the few rooms, small and sparse, and he takes in the stark walls and the practical furniture:

  * A twin bed tucked into the corner of the bedroom, a small table beside it
  * A closet with ten articles of clothing hanging in it
  * A kitchen table with one chair
  * A refrigerator with a bucket list and a Freddie Tomlinson original taped to the front of it and nothing else



“You’ve been living like this all this time?” Louis asks with a frown. “I understand having simple tastes, love, but I know you could afford something a little nicer than this.”

“This is all I needed,” Bucky says awkwardly. It feels strange to be in this space with Louis, this apartment that never felt like a home as much as just a place to keep his few belongings for however long he ended up staying in Los Angeles. He isn’t that person anymore, and it’s a little embarrassing to have Louis here, seeing how he used to exist. It’s uncomfortable to look at his old life through Louis’ eyes, but it’s easy to see how undeniably he’s outgrown it. It’s going to be easy to leave this place behind for good.

“Where’s the rest of your things?” Louis asks, opening the drawer to his bedside table and finding it empty.

“This is it,” Bucky says. “Told you I didn’t have much.”

“Bucky,” Louis says. “Babe. I….” He looks around the space helplessly. “I hate that you were living like this and I didn’t know.”

“I wasn’t living like this,” Bucky says. “I was barely ever here. I mean, at first I was. But not for a while. And not anymore.”

“I just want you to have everything you deserve,” Louis says, unable to tear his gaze away from Bucky’s nearly empty closet. “You’ve served your time, soldier. I want you to have a comfortable, happy life.”

“I’m going to,” Bucky says. “We are, Louis.”

Louis nods, and then he walks over to Bucky’s closet and gathers up all the clothing there with one sweep of his arms, and he drops it all onto Bucky’s bed. And then he carefully, methodically folds each shirt and each pair of pants. Bucky has never seen Louis fold an article of clothing in the entire time they’ve been together, and Louis is a little slow and clearly unpracticed. But he’s focused and determined, and when he’s finished, he has a neat pile of clothing, and he places it carefully into a box.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he says, his jaw set forcefully.

“C’mere,” Bucky says softly, sitting down on the bed. Louis plops down next to him, and his eyes look a little wild. “It’s okay, Louis. I’m fine.”

“But--”

“I’ve spent my life on the move,” Bucky says. “You know that. I’ve always been looking over my shoulder. It was never safe to put down roots.”

“I know.”

“I never let myself settle in here, because I never knew how long I was going to stay. How long it would be safe to stay. And I have...you know those sixteen different driver’s licenses you always give me shit for?” Bucky asks, and Louis nods. “Those were contingency plans. And I have dozens of them. Different identities and piles of cash hidden all over this city, all over the _country_ , in case something came after me and I needed to run.”

“Nothing is coming after you, Bucky,” Louis says desperately.

“I know that’s what you need to believe,” Bucky says. “But I could never know that for sure. I’ve always needed a back up plan for myself in case it stopped being safe.”

“And what now?” Louis asks quietly. Bucky swallows hard, and then he shifts so he can reach under the mattress and pull out a plain manilla envelope he’d hidden there.

“This is something I started working on when we got together. When it got serious,” Bucky says, handing over the envelope. Louis opens it up and pulls out a handful of documents and IDs, all with Louis’ face and different names on them.

“Did you get me sixteen different identities?” Louis asks, his voice wobbly.

“Only had time for nine,” Bucky says, and Louis smiles a little at that.

“What are these for?”

“If I ever had to go,” Bucky says, and his voice trails off. “Listen, I didn’t _want_ to go anywhere, and I don’t think I’ll have to. But I had to plan for the worst. You know I did. And if I had to go somewhere...I just wanted to make sure you could come, too. If you wanted to. I’d never make you leave. But you could have.”

“What?”

“Freddie would have had to stay, probably,” Bucky says quietly. “But if I left, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have protected him and Briana and all of them. And you, if you decided to stay. And if you decided to go with me, then I’d have protected you.”

“Bucky.”

“I was just trying to make you part of the contingency plan,” Bucky says, “but...but I don’t want to run anymore, Louis.”

“Please don’t,” he says quietly. “Please, don’t ever go.”

“I was never supposed to put down roots here,” Bucky says. He reaches for Louis’ hand, feels the way their palms press together perfectly, a solid, unbreakable seal. “But I have, Louis. And it turns out that I want to keep putting down more of them. I...I love you, and I want to be with you. And I don’t know what’s out there, I can’t promise there isn’t going to be something bad someday, but I am going to keep you safe. I promise.”

“I love you so much,” Louis says, blinking hard. “Shit, Bucky. I just want to be with you. Whatever that means. And if it comes to...that...then we’ll figure it out together, all right?” Bucky nods. “And...you just keep putting down them roots, yeah? You put down as many roots as you want, and I’m going to look after them and keep them safe the best I can.”

“I know you will,” Bucky says softly.

Louis climbs into Bucky’s lap and drapes his arms around his neck. They look into each other’s eyes for a full minute without saying anything or moving at all, and it’s startlingly intimate. And then Louis ducks his head and softly touches his lips to Bucky’s mouth, barely even a kiss, more like the suggestion of one. And Louis’ breath is warm and gentle against Bucky’s face, and Bucky presses his left hand to Louis’ chest. And beneath his metal palm, he feels Louis’ heartbeat, quick but solid. Louis loves too much, and he always has. He loves courageously, maybe even foolishly. His heart is brave and reckless and steadfast, and it’s safe under Bucky’s hand. Louis will be safe in Bucky’s hands, no matter what. And Bucky knows he’ll be safe with Louis as well.

“I love you,” Louis whispers against Bucky’s mouth. “Let’s finish up and get out of here and start over.”

“Okay,” Bucky replies, secure in the knowledge that somehow, everything is finally working out. They’re going to have a life together. And it’s going to be gorgeous. “Take me home, Louis.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://1000-directions.tumblr.com/post/172462184294/this-modern-love-by-1000directions-louis)
> 
>  
> 
> Bucky and Louis will return


End file.
